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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28502100">Count The Seconds Passing By</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/KassandraScarlett/pseuds/KassandraScarlett'>KassandraScarlett</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>The Age Reverse 'Verse [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Supernatural</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Age Swap, Angst, Dean is 14, Drunkenness, Emotional Hurt, First Kiss, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Pining, Pre-Canon, Underage Drinking, Underage Kissing, sam is 18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-01-02</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-01-02</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 18:07:03</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Underage</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>5,173</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28502100</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/KassandraScarlett/pseuds/KassandraScarlett</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>It takes Dean a while to realize that he wants to kiss his brother. It takes him longer to realize he's in love with him. Meanwhile, Sam's just trying to do the right thing here.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Dean Winchester/Sam Winchester</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>The Age Reverse 'Verse [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/2087763</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>37</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Count The Seconds Passing By</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Spin-off to <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27546184/chapters/67371190">The Other Way Around</a></p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <b>(October 2002)</b>
</p><p>
  <span>  “Well, there ya go, Dean,” Dad toasted, tipping his beer bottle towards the jubilant teen. “You were good. Good job.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>  Dean tried not to look as glow-y as he felt. “Thanks, dad.” He'd been hunting since he was eleven, of course, but this was the first time Dad had let him take the lead, let him call the shots. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>  John downed the rest of his beer. “Alright, I’m going to bed. You kids don’t stay up too late. Sam, make sure he gets to school on time tomorrow. We’re staying here for another few weeks, make sure there’s nothing in the surrounding areas.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>  “Yes, sir.” The older kid nodded. “Good night.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>  John disappeared into his own room. Dean turned to Sam, who looked… Kinda sad.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>  “What’s wrong?” Dean asked, confused.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>  Sam shook his head, looking away. “Dad’s downplaying it,” he said instead of answering. “You did amazing, Dean.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>  Dean could feel his cheeks burn. He blamed it on the cold and the broken heater. “Does this mean I can have another beer?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>  Sam gave him that stern big-brother look. “Absolutely not.” Finishing his own bottle, he fell back across his bed, long legs hanging off the side.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>  Dean pouted, but didn’t argue, too keyed up for that. Instead, he left his own bed and clambered onto Sam’s, sitting next to his head. Carefully, he poked the tip of Sam’s nose with his index finger.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>  “Sammy!” He hissed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>  Sam sighed, but dutifully asked, “Yes, Dean?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>  “Do you think Dad will let me come on a more exciting hunt next time?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>  Sam didn’t answer immediately, but he opened his eyes, studying Dean with that slightly sad look again. Slowly, he reached up towards Dean’s face. “You’ve got blood on your face.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>  Dean shivered when Sam’s fingers trailed across his cheek, the calloused skin warm against the frigid air, thumb swiping over the corner of his mouth to get at the blood of the ghoul they’d wasted. His lower lip tingled when Sam moved his hand away.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>  “Yeah,” Sam murmured. “You’ll probably be coming on more dangerous hunts soon enough.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>  Dean wanted to grin broadly, but he peered at Sam, with a frown. “You don’t want me to?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>  Sam didn’t reply to that either. Instead, he tapped Dean’s wrist teasingly. “You gonna sleep in your bed, or do you plan to cuddle?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>  Dean scowled as he retreated. He’d slept in the same bed as Sam for as long as he remembered, but for about a year now, he’d insisted on separate beds. He was getting older, after all, as he’d reasoned. Too old to say he couldn’t sleep right without his big brother. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>  It had taken a while, but he’d adjusted. Even if he missed the comfortable weight of Sam’s arm over his waist.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>  (Sam was never going to get comfortable with Dean coming on hunts. He’d practically raised the kid, after all, had more of a hand in training him too, until he could pin Sam or throw him off. But then, again, he’d also thought he’d never get used to sleeping without Dean’s small form tucked against him.)</span>
  </em>
</p>
<hr/><p>
  <b>(November)</b>
</p><p>
  <span>  Dad’s mood was never good during November. He drank more, stayed out till much later, generally became much more sullen.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>  Sam was upset too, but he did a much better job of pretending otherwise.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>  So, obviously, he was the one Dean went to with his question. It was always the same one. “What exactly happened that night?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>  Sam’s answer never changed either. “I was asleep, but something woke me up- don’t remember what exactly. I stayed in bed for a few minutes, tried to go back to sleep. I heard mom scream.” He sighed, absently reaching out to fix the collar of Dean’s shirt, like he can’t help touch him, reassuring himself. “Next thing I know, Dad gave you to me and told me to get you out of the house. So I ran, carried you out to the lawn.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>  “You don’t remember anything else?” Dean wondered.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>  Sam shrugged. “I remember the heat, the smoke.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>  “And you never saw anything from outside the house?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>  Sam’s hand tightened. “No-"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>  Dean was pretty sure that was a lie.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>  “-I was too focused on you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>  (Sam didn’t know how to explain that he’d tasted sulphur in his mouth, that it had taken him years to realize sulphur meant demons. He still hadn’t told Dad, probably never would, but sometimes, he thought he could feel it inside him, could feel something wrong- something demonic- rising up inside him. It was even more worrying that he only felt it when Dean was in danger or hurt, when Sam felt the urge to keep him close, keep him safe.)</span>
  </em>
</p>
<hr/><p>
  <b>(December)</b>
</p><p>
  <span>  Sam was good at soccer, Dean mused, as he sat on the bleachers watching the after-school practice. Sam joined the team in every school that he could and Dean would usually walk back to the motel on his own.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>  But the place they were staying in now was a bit too far from the school so Dean was stuck waiting until Sam could drive them back. At least, Dad had given Sam the Impala last year. He used to say, “Not till you’re eighteen,” but Sammy at just 16 had apparently proved too responsible to deny.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>  Dean would have been jealous, but Sam had promised it to him when </span>
  <em>
    <span>he </span>
  </em>
  <span>turned 18.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>  “I didn’t know you liked soccer.” It was one of his classmates- Bryan. He sat besides Dean comfortably, watching the players with a look of envy. “I love it, but I’m not good enough to join.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>  “Practice, maybe,” Dean offered, without taking his eyes off the field. “I actually don’t like it, it’s not really my thing.” Correction: any physical exertion outside of their dad’s training regime was not his thing. “I’m just waiting for my brother.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>  “Oh, your brother’s there?” Bryan’s tone turned more interested, leaning forward slightly to peer closer. “Which one?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>  “Tall as a beanpole. Girl-ish hair. Stupid pretty eyes.” He mentally smacked himself. “Number 7 jersey.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>  Bryan shot him an amused look, but then his gaze sharpened, focusing on Sam. On the field, Sam was jogging backwards, yelling something they couldn’t quite make out.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>  After a minute, Bryan nodded to himself. “He’s really good,” he said, sounding awed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>  Dean shifted uneasily. He knew Bryan well- sort of. He knew Bryan wasn’t… He was… He didn’t look at girls. He looked at guys.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>  And Dean wasn’t bothered by that, really. Sam had lectured him really well. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>  It was just that, right now, Bryan was looking at Sam- </span>
  <em>
    <span>Dean’s brother</span>
  </em>
  <span>- in the same way that Dean looked at Cindy in the year above him, or Julia who sat at the reception desk in the motel they’d stayed in two weeks ago.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>  And he wanted to say he didn’t get it, didn’t get why Bryan- and a lot of other people- looked at Sam like that.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>  But when Sam slowed down to a stop, he was close enough for Dean to stare at the way his hair clung to his forehead, chest heaving with exertion as he paused to take a drink of water, face flushed and muscles tensed…</span>
</p><p>
  <span>  Well, Dean wasn’t supposed to see the appeal. But he hadn’t learned how to lie to himself yet.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>  (“Your brother’s here,” Mason- one of his teammates- said, nodding towards the bleachers. Sam turned to see and, yeah, Dean was there, with another kid, watching him play. Sam waved at him and Dean waved back, but he was close enough for Sam to make out the sudden flush in Dean’s cheeks, the way he hastily looked away, then looked back almost sheepishly. Sam felt his stomach tighten, something hot curling in his gut. He forced himself to focus on practice.)</span>
  </em>
</p>
<hr/><p>
  <b>(January 2003)</b>
</p><p>
  <span>  “Happy birthday, Dean,” Dad said with one of his rare smiles. He handed a newspaper-wrapped present to him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>  It was heavy and Dean hardly dared to breathe, to hope as he tore it open and-</span>
</p><p>
  <span>  “Yes!” He crowed, darting forward to hug his father. “Thanks, dad, thank you!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>  Birthdays weren’t a huge deal in their little family. But Dean had been looking forward to his 14th, knowing he would finally get his own gun, just as Sam had. But expecting it was different from actually holding it in his hand, a beautiful Colt 1911, its handle intricately engraved and a Latin inscription on the slide, already feeling like it was shaped to fit his palm.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>  “It’s beautiful,” he whispered reverently.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>  The sound of a throat clearing had him turning. Sam had a rare gleam in his eye as he quirked an eyebrow at Dean. “Close your eyes,” he instructed. “And hold out your hand.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>  Dean obeyed, feeling restless with anticipation. A small piece of warm metal was dropped into his palm. He opened his eyes and…</span>
</p><p>
  <span>  “No way,” he said blankly. “No way, Sam. Seriously?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>  Sam grinned, nodding at the car keys Dean held. “I figured you’re tall enough to start learning. But-” He held up a threatening finger. “No driving alone without supervision.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>  “Okay,” Dean agreed readily, already grabbing his jacket with one hand and Sam’s arm with another. “Come on, we’re starting now.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>  “Dean!” Sam yelped. “School!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>  “Who cares?” Dean laughed, letting him go to rush over to the Impala. “Hello, baby,” he crooned.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>  “He’s talking to the car,” he heard Sam mutter disbelievingly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>  John chuckled. “Hey, this was your idea. You’re handling it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>  Sam tapped Dean on the shoulder. “Alright, that’s enough, don’t fetishize it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>  Dean glared. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Her</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Sammy,” he corrected. “Don’t be so disrespectful.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>  Sam just rolled his eyes and pushed him into the driver’s seat.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>  It was the best birthday Dean had ever had.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>  (Dean looked happy, Sam thought idly, watching the way he laughed, loud and joyous, making the car race down the highway. Sam let himself be happy too, in a way he only was around Dean.)</span>
  </em>
</p>
<hr/><p>
  <b>(February) </b>
</p><p>
  <span>  "What’s that?" Dean asked, curious as Sam unfolded some paper from his jacket. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>  "None of your business," Sam answered absently.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>  Dean looked closer. The paper was pink. "Dude, is that… Did you get a Valentine's Day card?" He wasn't sure if his incredulity was of amusement or upset.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>  Sam gave him an annoyed look. "It is, yeah. So?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>  "Huh." No, Dean was definitely upset. Almost nauseously so. "Who's it from?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>  Sam looked down at it, fingers tracing over it, with an almost wistful look on his face. "Don't know." He sighed, putting it carefully within the pages of his book. "Doesn't matter." He turned to Dean, tapped his pencil against his notebook. "Finish your homework, Dean."</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>  (It was from a girl in the debate club, a year younger than Sam. He liked her well enough, he supposed. She was smart, though kinda timid. But Sam couldn’t really focus on her, because every time he tried, he could only remember the way Dean had looked at him during that soccer practice.)</span>
  </em>
</p>
<hr/><p>
  <b>(March) </b>
</p><p>
  <span>  Dean came home, high on endorphins. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>  Sam, sprawled out on the couch with a book, took barely one look at him and got a knowing look in his eye. "Good date?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>  Dean thought about Nina and her dimpled smile, her shy gaze, and soft pink lips. "The best," he answered honestly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>  Sam's eyes sharpened and slowly traveled down the length of Dean's form. Dean fidgeted under the inspection, hating the crawl under his skin whenever Sam looked at him for too long. It got worse when Sam looked away, focusing on the book again, like Dean wasn't enough to hold his attention. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>  "Dean, we don't need to have the Talk again, do we?" Sam asked, semi-casually, but the tops of his ears were flushed and his eyes weren't really moving across the page he was supposedly reading. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>  Dean huffed. "No."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>  "Just saying, kiddo, you're only fourteen, and…" He waved a hand vaguely. "You're already way too popular with the ladies. Can't blame me for being worried."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>  "Oh my god, it was one date and not everyone can be a late bloomer like you, okay?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>  Sam looked back at him. "What do you mean?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>  Dean looked down his nose, deliberately haughty. "Your first kiss was, what, when you were sixteen?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>  For a long time, Sam gaped at him. "How do you even know that?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>  Dean nodded solemnly. "I'm observant," he said primly and stalked into the bathroom. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>  He didn't think too much about how Nina reminded him of Sam, or how often he wondered what it might feel like to kiss Sam.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>  (So, Dean knew a little too much about Sam’s semi-existent love life. Sam knew he could be overbearing sometimes, but at least, he never vetted anyone Dean went out with. He barely even knew the girl Dean had been with tonight, nothing except that her name was Nina and she was top of her class and secretly good at chess and Dean was, more likely than not, her first kiss.)</span>
  </em>
</p>
<hr/><p>
  <b>(April) </b>
</p><p>
  <span>  It was late night when Dean heard the low rumble of the Impala. Checking to see Dad was still asleep, he crept to the window, peeking through the curtains. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>  Sam was holding the car door open as a girl climbed out. She was pretty, Dean considered. Petite in front of Sam, blonde hair glowing softly under the light of the motel's signboard- she had a bright laugh that echoed across the parking lot and Sam looked positively enamoured. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>  As Dean watched, stomach tight with a feeling that was almost nauseous, the girl leaned against the side of the Impala, looping her arms around Sam’s shoulders and pulling him to her. Sam kissed her without preamble, one hand cupping the back of her head, the other sitting low on her back for a moment, before wandering lower. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>  Dean tore his eyes away, feeling unexplainably angry. He suddenly felt twelve again, watching Sam tutor a girl on the park bench, then kissing her shyly, yet seeming utterly confident. Twelve years old and feeling afraid of that girl, afraid that she was going to take Sam away from him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>  Now, he was fourteen and still thinking that, sooner or later, Sam would find a good enough reason to put his foot down and stay behind, without Dad and… Without Dean. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>  Dean would be helpless to stop it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>  Come morning, he was cranky, tired and sullen. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>  Sam didn't argue with dad. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>  But he looked just a little heartbroken as they drove away, and the observation didn't help Dean's mood.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>  (Dean was in a bad mood, which was why he sulked in the backseat, rather than shotgun. Sam sat behind the wheel, following Dad’s Jeep, and watched him in the rearview mirror. He knew Dean had watched him return to the motel with Rachel, had probably watched them make out against the car, Rachel secure in the knowledge that no one was awake to watch, Sam not seeing a reason to tell her that Dean was. And if knowing that had made Sam bolder, had prompted him to take it further than he usually would… Well, no one knew, right?)</span>
  </em>
</p>
<hr/><p>
  <b>(May) </b>
</p><p>
  <span>  Sam closed the laptop as soon as Dean woke up. "Morning, sunshine," he greeted. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>  "Hmm, happy birthday, Sammy," Dean mumbled. Then he narrowed his bleary eyes. "What were you lookin' at?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>  "Lookin' for cases," he answered easily. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>  "Uh-huh." Dean let it go for the moment. "Dad back yet?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>  Sam pursed his lips. "He called," he said stiffly. "Said he was running late, might be back by later tonight."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>  Dean felt his heart fall. "Sorry," he said softly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>  Sam looked at him askance. "S'fine. He tried. I'm getting too old to celebrate birthdays anyway."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>  Why Sam ever bothered to lie to Dean, he didn't understand. He always saw right through it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>  Ten minutes later, as he stood under the shower, he heard the low murmur of conversation. Turning the water off, he listened closely. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>  "You have no idea how much I appreciate this," Sam was saying. "Thank you, Bobby, really." There was a pause. "I don't know yet. I don't… I haven't talked to him." Another pause, then a surprised bark of laughter. "Yeah, I'll keep that in mind. Thanks, Bobby."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>  Dean bit his lip in thought as he got dressed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>  "Who was that?" He asked, stepping out of the shower. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>  Sam looked unconcerned. "Bobby Singer. You probably don't remember him-"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>  "No, Uncle Bobby, I- yeah." Dean assured. "Didn't, uh…" He frowned. "Didn't he and dad have a falling out?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>  "Yeah." Sam nodded, looking a bit sheepish. "He just remembered my birthday."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>  "Oh." Dean watched him closely. "Anything else?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>  "No," Sam lied. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>  Dean blinked. A huge part of him wanted to fight, to demand the truth. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>  But… If Sam was lying now, he'd already dug his heels in. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>  (Sam was scared, maybe a little irrationally so. He meant what he’d said to Bobby- of course, he was going to ask Dean to come along. He just had a feeling he already knew that Dean would refuse. He didn’t think he could take that and in the meantime, the application papers in his backpack, waiting to be mailed, felt like they weighed a ton.)</span>
  </em>
</p>
<hr/><p>
  <b>(June) </b>
</p><p>
  <span>  The fever was of the supernatural kind and it hit him hard, leaving him shivering and sweating and deluded.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>  Dad looked a lot like that one-eyed guy from those Harry Potter movies Sam loved. Sam himself looked like a cross between a yeti and Tinkerbell. A brunette Tinkerbell in flannel.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>  “Pretty,” he mumbled and then Sam’s face disappeared from view.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>  The ceiling turned into frescoes. Dean was pretty sure he could make out mom’s face, from that one photo in which she was holding a baby- Baby Dean. Baby him. Oh, that was hilarious, he had to tell Sam. Where was Sam anyway?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>  “Sammy’s gone to get meds,” a rumbling voice told him. Dean tried to turn towards it, but his head felt like wet cotton. “I called Pastor Jim. He said there’s nothing we can do, just wait it out. Fever will break by morning.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>  Morning? That was too far. How would Dean keep an eye on Sam if they were separated all the way till Morning?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>  “Morning tomorrow, son,” that rumbling voice said. “Not a place called Morning.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>  Oh, son of a bitch, there was a mind-reader in the room with him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>  The voice laughed a little.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>  Dean fell asleep.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>  When he woke up, there was a large hand on his forehead and another voice. “Wake up, De, come on. Just need to take a pill and you can go back to sleep. Don’t argue, or I’ll have to wake dad and get him to hold you down.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>  Dean didn’t like the sound of that threat, so he obeyed, his eyes fluttering open to see Sammy with a glass of water and a white tablet. Sammy looked tired, but he was smiling. He had a nice smile. And sparkly eyes. And pretty lips. People in bars and roadhouses sometimes whistled at Dean and told him he had girly lips but Dean really liked Sam’s. Maybe Sam used that strawberry chapstick that the girls in Dean’s class did. Oh, and his hair. His hair was stupid, but it smelled nice. Dean should know, he stole the shampoo often enough.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>  “Dean, you should really stop talking,” Sammy told him, pressing the tablet to his lips first, then giving him the water. He sounded weird- like he was scared.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>  “No. M’not talking. You’re talking,” Dean muttered.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>  Sammy sighed. “Go to sleep, Dean.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>  Dean did. The next morning, he blushed almost as soon as Sam met his eyes. Behind him, Dad was at the table, failing to hide a smirk.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>  “I said something super embarrassing, didn’t I?” He demanded.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>  Sam gave a half-smile. “Well, you confessed to stealing my shampoo and that I look like Tinkerbell. I took a couple of short videos, in fact.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>  Dean groaned and fell back on the pillow, pulling the covers over his head.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>  (Dean didn’t remember and Sam envied him that, really, because for the next several nights, all Sam dreamed about were Dean’s green eyes, fever-bright and innocent, fixed on him as he mumbled, “It’s not fair, so not fair. I can’t kiss you. But I wanna. I really want to kiss you, and, and, and I…” He’d shuddered, blinking. “I love you. Shouldn’t that make it okay?”)</span>
  </em>
</p>
<hr/><p>
  <b>(July)</b>
</p><p>
  <span>  After the fireworks, Sam spread a blanket on the grass next to the Impala and they sat there in semi-quiet, watching the stars. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>  Dean was tilted against Sam, head resting on his shoulder. Sam had looked surprised again, but also pleased, like he’d missed the contact too.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>  “If you weren’t still a kid,” Sam murmured, passing him the beer. “I’d be getting you drunk a lot more often, since it gets you all clingy like this again.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>  Dean cleared his throat, shaking his head. “Not a kid,” he protested. “And, ‘sides, you’re too…” He frowned, thinking hard. “Uptight.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>  Sam snorted, jostling Dean as he sipped at the beer. “Shut the fuck up, you jerk.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>  “Language,” Dean mimicked Sam’s old reprimand. “Bitch.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>  Sam laughed- giggled, really. They fell silent for a long time.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>  “Sammy,” Dean said softly. “Thanks for tonight.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>  Sam hummed, throat vibrating against the tip of Dean’s nose. “Glad you liked it.” And from anyone else, that would have sounded cheesy, but Sam was sincere, so genuinely happy to please Dean…</span>
</p><p>
  <span>  Dean didn’t think before turning slightly, pressing his lips to the underside of Sam’s jaw.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>  Sam shivered, shifting away a little so he could look down at Dean. “What are you doing?” He whispered.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>  Dean straightened, trying to think. They were both drunk, he reasoned. People did stupid things when they were drunk, right? And there wasn’t much that was stupider than this. If it went wrong, the alcohol was to blame.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>  Without giving himself a chance to second-guess, he swung his legs over Sam’s, straddling him easily, confident that Sam would grab his hips to keep him from overbalancing. He was right. Another second of hesitation- in which Sam still looked a little confused, but more scared now, more worried- and then Dean kissed him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>  Sam didn’t push him away. Sam didn’t freeze up and stay slack.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>  No, he kissed back. He kissed back and Dean lost control of it, lips parting on a gasp, then a moan as Sam easily licked into his mouth, erasing the taste of the beer and replacing it with his own. He snaked an arm around Dean’s thin waist, fingers splayed to cover nearly his whole back, another hand curled around the back of Dean’s head. Moving easily, like he wasn’t supporting Dean’s entire weight, he shifted their positions, so Dean was lying on the blanket, and-</span>
</p><p>
  <span>  And if Dean had thought it was great first, this was ten times better, with Sam blanketing his whole body, their legs tangled together, hands clasped on either side of Dean’s head, the groan that left him as Dean instinctively arched up, heat shooting through every inch of him-</span>
</p><p>
  <span>  Sam broke away.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>  “Sam,” Dean called brokenly, chasing his lips.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>  Sam didn’t reply.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>  Dean opened his eyes, giddiness fading into panic and regret.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>  Sam was looking at him like he’d never seen him before, like Dean was a stranger.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>  “I’m sorry,” Dean whispered. What had he been thinking? Oh, right, the alcohol. God, he was so stupid… “I’m so sorry.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>  Suddenly, the conflicting emotions from before disappeared, replaced by that bone-deep sadness that Dean never understood. He gave a shaky smile, cradling Dean’s jaw, thumb sweeping over his cheekbone. Leaning down, he kissed Dean’s forehead.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>  Dean never thought a gesture of familial affection would break his heart.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>  “Go to sleep, Dean,” Sam whispered, rolling off him and laying besides him instead.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>  Dean pondered for a few seconds, then turned into Sam, burrowing into his chest. Sam let him, winding an arm around him, tucking him under his chin like he was eight years old again. Dean’s amulet, trapped between their bodies, dug into his chest.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>  Dean didn’t cry, but it was a close thing. Somehow, it was still the best sleep he’d had in a long time.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>(One moment of weakness and Sam had lost. He hated himself for it, more than he already had, but he still couldn’t regret it, wouldn’t wish to take it back. His brother was curled into his chest, deeply asleep. Sam couldn’t stop touching him, tracing his kiss-swollen lips, the freckles splattered across his baby-soft cheeks; they were touches that would have been innocent if it weren’t for the desire still thrumming through him. Did it make him a monster if part of him wanted to wake Dean up and continue what they had almost started?)</span>
  </em>
</p>
<hr/><p>
  <b>(August)</b>
</p><p>
  <span>  It was supposed to be a simple hunt. Just a water spirit. Those were supposed to be easy. So easy that Dad had told them to take care of it on their own.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>  Except Sam was not breathing and Dean couldn’t think, couldn’t form a single rational thought as he furiously administered CPR. In his head, he counted down from 6 minutes. </span>
  <em>
    <span>The brain can survive without oxygen for 6 minutes</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Dad had told them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>  6 minutes…</span>
</p><p>
  <span>  5 minutes…</span>
</p><p>
  <span>  4 and a half…</span>
</p><p>
  <span>  Sam choked his way to consciousness, curling onto his side to cough up water.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>  Dean collapsed, falling into the soft mud, chest heaving with exertion.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>  Terror washed over him, overtaking the single-mindedness; Sam could have died. He could have died and Dean would be left alone, because sure, he had Dad, but Dad wasn’t Sam, it wasn’t the same and-</span>
</p><p>
  <span>  Sam’s hand was holding his own, squeezing gently, trembling.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>  “Hey, it’s okay,” Sam panted, shivering. “Dean, it’s okay.” Dean turned to see Sam smiling weakly. “You saved me,” he murmured. “I’m okay, Dean. It’s okay.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>  It wasn’t fair, Dean thought, that Sam had been the one not breathing for almost three minutes but was still comforting his little brother. And, not for the first time, he understood why Sam wanted to leave this life.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>  So he squeezed Sam’s hand back, ignored the ever-present urge to kiss him, and prayed that Sam never let go.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>  (Dean crawled into Sam’s bed that night, thinking him asleep, and it was the most physical contact they’d had since a month ago. Sam didn’t react, just let Dean wrap himself in his longer arms. God, Sam loved this boy. He’d do anything to protect him, would give him anything he asked for, would give himself the way Dean wanted him to, if only he could… But he also wanted to take, take every part of his still-innocent little brother and mark every piece with his own name. The conclusion was: Sam had to protect Dean from himself. Even so, he tucked his nose against the back of Dean’s neck, breathing him in, and let himself indulge this tiny bit for one night.)</span>
  </em>
</p>
<hr/><p>
  <b>(September)</b>
</p><p>
  <span>  The cabin was deathly quiet after Dad slammed the door behind him. Dean sat on the bed, legs feeling too unsteady. He heard the thud of Sam dropping his bag to the ground and then his brother was in front of him, kneeling on the floor between Dean’s legs, hands landing gently on Dean’s shoulders.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>  “Come with me,” he pleaded quietly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>  Dean’s eyes darted to the door Dad had gone through. “I can’t,” he whispered. “I can’t leave Dad.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>  “Dad will be fine,” Sam assured. “He’ll be fine, I’ll check up on him, I’ll even apologize and help him out whenever he needs it, just… Come with me, Dean, please. Don’t let this be your life.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>  “But this is my life,” Dean protested weakly, because it was the truth. This was the only life he’d ever known, and god knew he loved Sam, loved him more than he should, but Dean was too scared to leave this behind. He didn’t have it in him to fail at the normal life life that Sam wanted, couldn't bear the thought of watching Sam change and adapt, fall in love, kiss someone who wasn’t Dean…</span>
</p><p>
  <span>  So many reasons not to go and to top it all of, Dean truly couldn’t leave Dad. Sam could handle himself being alone, but Dad would go off the deep end. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>  Sam shut his eyes for one second- two seconds, three, four, five. When he opened them, they were blazing with resolve. “I’m going to come back,” he swore. “It’s not forever, I’m going to come back. I promise.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>  Dean clenched his jaw. “You also promised you’d never hurt me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>  Pain flashed across those dear features and Sam sighed, cupping Dean’s face. “You’re so young,” he whispered. “Too young to understand, but… Please, try to. This isn’t something I’m doing to you. It’s something I’m doing for myself.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>  Panic washed over Dean and he reached for Sam, curling his fingers into his jacket. “Don’t go,” he begged, knowing it was in vain. “Don’t go, please. I swear I won’t…” He swallowed. “If it’s about that night- I know I was wrong, okay, I’m sorry, but it won’t happen again, Sam, just stay, god, please…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>  Sam’s face had grown more and more stricken, before he leaned forward and shut Dean up. By kissing him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>  It was chaste. Tender. And it broke his heart.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>  “I’m going to come back for you,” Sam whispered. He kissed him again, with a sharp bite to Dean’s tear-salted lower lip, and then he was gone.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>  (Sam damned himself with that last kiss, but when Dean was looking at him like that, wide-eyed and pleading, tears ready to spill and small hands clutching at him- what else was he to do? The only other option was to stay and Sam couldn’t do that, couldn’t give up his one chance, even if it tore him in half… So he promised again, this time to himself, that he’d come back. Dean would be older and if he still wanted this thing- whatever it was- between them, then Sam would gladly give it to him. And if he grew out of it, decided there was a whole world of better options than his big brother… Sam would learn to live with that too.)</span>
  </em>
</p>
<hr/><p>
  <b>(October 2004)</b>
</p><p>
  <span>  Dean stared at the name flashing up on his screen</span>
  <em>
    <span>.</span>
  </em>
  
</p><p>
  <span>  “You need to get that?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>  Dean shook his head. “No,” he said decisively and ignored the call, just as he had the last several hundred times over the past year. Then he switched it off and smiled at the stranger who was buying him a drink, looking at him with that dark gleam in his eyes that had become so familiar. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>  Dean smirked at the older man with a hooded glance and pretended he didn’t remember the sting of Sam’s teeth.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>  (Sam sighed, feeling his heart break again. He blinked back sudden tears, telling himself sternly that part of his reasons for leaving was so that Dean had the room to make his choice without Sam unwittingly influencing him. So he put the phone away and turned to Jess with as much of a smile as he could manage.)</span>
  </em>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>My Tumbr: kassyscarlett</p></blockquote></div></div>
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